Page 4 of Revels on an Angel’s Grave

Formal, as everything seemed to be here.

The suite itself was much larger than Emmeline needed, but it was beautiful. White marble floors, a gleaming silver chandelier, and grand glass doors leading onto three stone balconies overlooking the orange groves on the Chancellor’s property.

She’d bought plants and flowers yesterday to try to make it feel more like home, but despite their familiar, fresh blooms, it was too extravagant. Even the bed was larger than any she’d seen before, the linens and rugs softer. She missed the timeworn halls of the Academy and her tiny dormitory she’d turned into her haven.

Before someone had attacked her there.

The Chancellor’s manor had endless halls full of similar suites. She’d often considered over the past few days whether or not the manor should really be called a palace. But when she’d voiced that thought to Alana, she only explained the previous Chancellor had supposedly loved his riches, and Rocarri would likely update to his more modest tastes as time went on.

Emmeline pulled a beaded robin’s-egg blue gown with tight sleeves off the hanger.

“Oh, I love that one. Here, let me help.” Alana extended a hand, the sleeve of her dressing gown sliding up to expose a delicate branch of wisteria tattooed on the inside of her wrist. She was already in her own gown, the dark-blue bodice lined with delicate indigo lace and sheer in places that flattered her slight figure, a dainty diamond chain around her neck.

Alana laced Emmeline into the dress, thankfully not commenting on the scars peppering Emmeline’s skin.

“Did you know the previous Chancellor?” Emmeline asked as the corset tightened around her frame.

“No, I wasn’t promoted from the museum circuit until recently.”

Alana had worked under one of Rocarri’s associates until he’d named her as his personal art curator. Now she was redesigning the manor’s gallery with pieces from promising up-and-coming artists all over the territory, and while it was quick, it was rumored she may one day hold a spot on Rocarri’s council as Master of Artistry.

“I think Balmour will be a good Chancellor,” Alana said as she gathered jewelry for Emmeline from amidst the scattered cosmetics on the vanity. “I haven’t worked for him long, but he’s been fair.” Her fingers tightened on a necklace, a tremble working through her body, but before Emmeline could ask if she was okay, Alana cleared her throat and loosened her grip. “I have high hopes. Especially after the way our last Chancellor disappeared so suddenly. Anything has to be better than that, right?”

“Right,” Emmeline agreed.

She’d barely interacted with Rocarri, so she couldn’t speak for him personally, but the Starsearchers would finally have someone steady after two years of interim rulers. She supposed that would make this entire tournament business worth it in the long run.

The tight hems of her sleeves dug into Emmeline’s skin as she looked at her reflection, the fabric weighing down her frame. But she took a deep breath and slipped the silver bangles Alana extended onto her wrists, tiny aquamarine stones lining the metal. She added her own rings next, including the tarnished opal around her first finger.

While Alana arranged her raven hair with a series of diamond-crusted pins, Emmeline tucked a long chain beneath her gown. The lone, blackened steel ring settled between her breasts, a cold reminder of everything she was here to do.

Of everyone she was here to avenge.

Emmeline pressed her palm to her sternum as she stood on the outskirts of the party. The ring hidden beneath her dress pressed into her skin, and she breathed deeply, the bite of cool metal centering her.

A server passed, and Emmeline plucked a glass of sparkling wine from the silver tray, nodding her thanks. Even the tailoring of the staff’s velvet jackets was more lavish than anything on the Constellation Isles.

Like the rest of the manor, the large dining chamber was made of polished wood, gleaming marble, and tall windows between thick dark-blue curtains. The finishes reminded Emmeline of the Lyra Accords and the Trade House, but everything in the manor had an air of newness. It lacked the antiquity she’d become accustomed to in the past six years, masquerading under the allure but not steeped in it.

“A show,” she whispered to herself, mesmerized as she tipped her glass to her lips, the gems lining her wrists twinkling. “It’s all a show.”

“What is?” a deep voice asked beside her.

Emmeline jolted, unaware anyone had approached her. Without turning her head, she sliced her gaze to the side. “Pardon?”

“You said it’s a show, I believe?” An amused smile tilted the man’s lips, the glint in his hazel eyes bright against his light-brown skin. “Do you mean the tournament?”

“Yes,” Emmeline covered. She drained the rest of her wine, the bubbles melting into the magic pounding through her veins. She needed a session tonight, desperately. Her mind had spun like a top through Rocarri’s entire welcome speech earlier, the Fates’ whispers harder to ignore with each passing minute.

The stranger’s eyes were still on her, though. If he was handing himself over so readily, she may as well start her research here.

Emmeline rolled her shoulders back and gave in to the show, assuming her most modest expression. “I have to admit, I don’t know much about the tournament.”

The stranger snapped his fingers at a passing server, gesturing at Emmeline’s glass.

“Most of us don’t know much about it, do we?” he answered as the server left, smile still quirking up one corner of his lips as he shifted to lean against the pillar beside her and tilted his head closer. Though she wanted to back away from his smoky scent, she stayed put, gaze fixed on the thin silver hoops in his ear. He whispered conspiratorially, “I think that’s what Rocarri wants, don’t you?”

Emmeline glanced around them, but none of Rocarri’s guests were paying them any mind.